


Whose Love Would Follow Still

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan begins having strange dreams of a grief-stricken ghostly woman, and Methos goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whose Love Would Follow Still

**Author's Note:**

> Adult content for male/male slash, language, some violence, DM/M, this was a response to the LJ community hl_challenge_co for the prompt 'haunting by so-and-so's ghost', posted 7/16/2006. A huge thank you to elistaire for the patient beta and Mischief for artwork.

  


Methos stepped outside and groaned as the heat wrapped around him, suffocating him in its embrace. His book bag was heavy and cumbersome on his right shoulder, and he slowed to a stop to readjust it as he squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun. With a scowl and a mental curse, he pulled out his shades and began walking towards the car park where he had left his rental that morning.

People were rushing past him, students intent on getting to class, others hurrying to their cars to leave the University. He watched them bustle around, annoyed that his own evening would invariably be spent in his hotel room either reading or watching television. Alone. For his lover was back in Seacouver keeping their antique business running while he was stuck here, in Memphis, Tennessee, doing a week long lecture on Bronze Age culture to a group of bored college students. Of course, he mused, they wouldn't be bored long if he told them the truth instead of the garbage he was forced to lecture them on. He almost laughed out loud when he imagined the looks on their faces if he told them about Caspian.

A shrill ring snapped him back into focus, and he slowed his steps once again to pull out his cell from the leather case dangling from his belt clip. He flipped it open and smiled widely when the caller's name lit up on the screen.

"Pierson."

"Pierson," the caller repeated, sounding fondly amused. "You knew it was me."

"And if I did? You can never be too careful, Mac. One day you'll learn."

"Maybe I just need you here to keep reminding me. How's the lecture going?"

"Long. And boring. I don't know why I got picked for this bloody job. I hate it here," he groused.

"Because you were the most qualified. And the South is beautiful. Memphis is a great city. What's the problem really?"

Methos snorted and continued walking, grateful that he was almost at his car. "The bloody problem, Mac, is that it's hot and humid, I'm bored and I don't know a soul here."  
He stopped and paused to retrieve his keys from his pants pocket as his car came into view. "And I miss you," he added softly.

"I miss you too, love. You know that."

"Yeah, I do. I'm finally at my car, Duncan. I'll call you later on tonight."

"I'm counting on it. Go on. I'll catch you later. Bye, Methos."

"Bye, Mac."

He flipped his phone closed and returned it to its leather case before turning to push his key into the lock, only to stop mid-motion when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. A sudden chill passed over him and he shivered as goose bumps popped up on his skin. "Fuck." The word went through his mind a split second before the hot flash of searing pain ripped through his back and into his chest.

The last few seconds of his life ebbed away in sensory awareness: the sticky wetness of his own blood as it drenched his shirt, the jarring impact as he fell heavily against his car, the hot metal scorching his face as he slid down and fell to the ground. Then all was black.

 

~~~~~~

The night was drifting away slowly, lifting its dark cloak from the corners of Duncan's bedroom and replacing it with grays and slivers of light from the approaching sun. The bedside clock illuminated 5 am.

On the bed Duncan MacLeod twisted and turned, his mind unaware of the approaching morning as he slipped further into his dream. In the outer reaches of his consciousness he was aware that he was asleep and dreaming. His mind catalogued a dark room, soft light seeping in from the window to announce a full moon. Cool air flitted across him, cooling him through the sheet covering the lower half of his body. He rolled over, pulled the sheet around him and drifted deeper into his dream.

He knew he was in his bedroom, even though the bed was now gone, replaced with shadows, and the rest of the room was covered in a thick smoky haze. And he knew he wasn't alone. The presence of another was close by although the room was eerily quiet, the air still and oppressive around him. He could sense the other person getting closer, feel the aching torment of grief surrounding them, and he tensed as the other approached.

He shivered when the first sobs broke through the stillness. They were gentle at first--a woman's sobs, soft and melodic--drifting towards him from the darkness of the room. He couldn't move as she came closer, her sobs becoming stronger as she neared. He felt a tightness in his chest, an ache he knew wasn't his, and her grief enveloped him heavily.

He couldn't reach out. He tried to speak, to call out, but couldn't put voice to the words. Squinting, he tried to make out her form from the shadows as she drew nearer. She drifted out of a dark haze, her body a swirl of long robes as she approached; seemingly gliding towards him, her feet not quite touching the ground. Her shoulders were shaking gently as she sobbed, and he pleaded silently for her to look up so he could see her face.

Duncan woke with a start, his heart racing and his body covered with sweat. He looked around the room wildly, expecting to see the woman of his dreams. With a deep sigh, he noted his surroundings, and fell back against his pillow. He was in his bedroom--their bedroom--and he frowned when he glanced at the clock. Six am.

Methos was supposed to have called last night. When he hadn't, Duncan had assumed he had fallen asleep and would call this morning. But it was 8 am now in Memphis and Duncan knew Methos would already be at the University for his first morning lecture. He picked up the bedside phone and checked for a dial tone then pulled out his cell from the bedside drawer. It was still turned on and charged with no voice messages.

Intellectually he knew he was being silly. He and Methos had been together as lovers for over ten years. They had lived together for the last five. And he knew the ancient wasn't always the most dependable when it came to calling home or keeping Duncan apprised of his whereabouts. But he trusted his lover and knew with certainty that Methos would have some excuse about falling asleep or his cell phone dying. Or having one too many beers and forgetting to call.

He scrubbed at his face with his hands and mentally shook off his concerns. It was just the dream he told himself. The third one that week with the strange woman coming to him, sobbing, while he couldn't seem to do anything but watch her and share her grief. He had to admit it was bothering him. For the life of him he could not place the woman or figure out where she came from in his subconscious. And the dreams were getting stronger, her form more solid each time, her sobs louder and more heart-rending as her grief engulfed him, grasping him into her pain.

He pushed back the sheet and got out of bed, stretching sore muscles while chiding himself to let go of the dream. A hot shower and breakfast would go a long way towards shaking off the residual feelings of pain and dread. And he had an antique store to open up. He had one buyer coming in at 9 am and he needed his thoughts clear and focused. He would catch his mate later in the day and scold him for worrying him. He might even suggest a few ways Methos could make it up to him later.

He stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. He was right. It was just the thing he needed to throw off the last vestiges of his dream. A cup of coffee and a light breakfast had him back to normal and he reached for his jacket, making sure his katana was securely hidden in its folds. Entering the lift, he pushed the button to descend to the first floor of the now vacant dojo, glad they had decided to close the business years ago so he and Methos could use it for their own private work out area.

It was a slow journey, the old elevator groaning and jerking with effort until it came to an abrupt stop on the first floor. They really should move, he told himself. This building was too old and it would cost too much to renovate and bring it up to current city codes. Maybe he would bring that up with Methos when he returned home from Memphis later in the week.

He lifted the gate, his mind debating the pros and cons of selling the dojo, when he looked up, startled to see someone in his peripheral vision. He saw her for only an instant, the vague form of a woman standing beside the stairwell, long dark hair flowing down her back, and white and gray robes fluttering around her feet as she turned and vanished through the front door.

"Wait!" He shouted and ran to catch her before she could get away. Reaching the front door, he skidded to a stop, frozen in place as the implications finally began to sink in. Whoever this woman was, she wasn't of this world. And he was almost certain he hadn't known her. So why was she coming to him and why now?

~~~~~~

Duncan knew he was dreaming again. He looked around and tried to peer into the shadows of the room, frowning when he couldn't make out any shapes that would tell him where she was. The room was quiet, unnaturally so, his breaths the only sound in the stillness around him. He waited, tense and expectant, for her to appear, for the sounds of her sobs, and the feeling of grief he knew he would be forced to endure long after he woke.

Only this time there were no sobs, and he willed his feet to move forward; to search for her. One tiny step and another, and he found himself immobilized once again by a force he could not see. He waited, beads of sweat slicking his skin as the seconds ticked by. Then the sound came--a woman's voice--singing softly in a slow melody, the words in a language he did not recognize.

In front of him the room seemed to open to a white cloud and a vision appeared. The woman was sitting on the ground, grass under her feet, her long robes pulled around her. In her arms was a small child, perhaps a year old, his tiny hand clutched in the material gathered at her breast, while he drifted off to sleep sucking his thumb.

Duncan could feel the breeze that wafted over them, lifting the material of her robe before washing over his own skin and cooling him as it floated into the room. He could smell the grass, the clean odor of fresh showers and outdoors. In his vision, she never looked up. "Please," he begged with his mind. "Who are you? What do you need me to know?"

She rocked the child gently, her voice soft and lilting as she continued to sing, her eyes never venturing from the peaceful face of the sleeping child.

He woke slowly, and breathed deeply in and out to ease his mind back into full wakefulness. Then he heard it, a woman sobbing, close--so close he could reach out and touch her. Opening his eyes, he looked up, his heart sinking with dread as she vanished into thin air right in front of him, her sobs floating away seconds later.

~~~~~~

Duncan slammed down the phone and began pacing. Where the hell was Methos? He had been trying to call him all morning. His cell phone was off and he hadn't checked out of the hotel. Duncan's messages to the University had so far gone unanswered and he was becoming more agitated by the moment. The dreams weren't helping, he admitted. Every time he had one it was taking longer and longer to let go of the feelings of fear and dread.

Only now he was becoming more than just a little concerned. Methos might be occasionally inconsiderate, but he was not cruel. He knew Duncan would be worried if he didn't check in occasionally. In fact, Duncan was becoming more worried with every passing second.

Damn it! He swore to himself. Surely Joe would let him know if something had happened. For that matter, he was almost certain there was no way another Immortal could take Methos' head without them knowing about it. A five thousand year old quickening would almost level a city. It was damn small comfort.

He stubbornly refused to think about Hunters. They had lost Darius to Horton; his two thousand year old quickening gone forever. He could not conceive of losing Methos the same way. And even though Joe was officially retired from the Watchers, he still worked with them in research and was consulted in an active capacity. He had access to all their files and kept his eyes and ears open to any possible dissension. With certainty, Duncan knew his friend would let him know if there were any problems with the Watchers.

With that thought in mind, he grabbed his coat and stormed out the door. Joe wasn't expecting him, but damned if he cared. If the Watchers knew anything, he would personally tear their files apart to find out what had happened to his lover.

~~~~~~

Joe pulled out two chairs and motioned for Duncan to sit down.

"Mac, you know we don't have a Watcher on Methos. Too much of a risk on some hot shot finding out who he really is."

"I know that, Joe. I guess I was just hoping...I don't know. You should know _something_."

Joe shook his head and looked towards the bar. "How 'bout a cup of coffee. I think it's ready." He waited until Duncan had returned with two cups of coffee before continuing. "Look, MacLeod. You know we can't put a Watcher on the old guy. First, he wouldn't allow it, and like I said, it would be too dangerous. Someone could get wise that he isn't just Doctor Adam Pierson. Even though I'm officially retired, they're still letting me Watch the both of you when you're in town. When you're not around, I kinda depend on you letting me know what's going on."

"You're saying you don't know a damn thing."

"I'm saying that I haven't heard anything. When you called, I pulled up the files and called a couple of Watchers in the area. As far as I know, there hasn't been any Immortal activity anywhere near Memphis recently. There sure as hell haven't been any quickenings reported. And you know as well as I do, a quickening that size can't be covered up. Even if someone got him out to a secluded area, we'd be aware."

"Unless it wasn't an Immortal." Duncan slammed his coffee cup down, wincing when the hot liquid splashed over his hand. He took the napkin Joe passed his way and absently wiped up the spill.

"Hunters? Nah. I'd know."

"You didn't know about Horton." Duncan met his eyes accusingly. "Or Darius."

Joe scrubbed at his beard and sighed heavily. "I know, Mac. But, hell. I didn't know about the Hunters then. No one in the organization outside James' group did. Give me a little bit of credit, okay?"

"Fine. It isn't Hunters. Then where the hell is he?"

Joe shook his head. "I wish I knew, my friend. I wish I knew."

~~~~~~

Duncan finished packing and zipped his bag. His visit to Joe had done little to squelch his feelings of fear. But at least he was taking action now. He didn't know where his lover was, or what had happened to him, but of one thing he was certain. Joe was right, there was no way Methos' quickening would go unnoticed. His lover was alive and it was up to him to find him and bring him home.

He had called his travel agent from the bar and booked airline reservations. Unfortunately, she couldn't find a flight out from Seacouver to Memphis until early morning. Joe made arrangements for coverage at the bar and announced in no uncertain terms that he was joining Duncan on his trip.

_Not a word, Mac. He's my friend too._

Duncan had just nodded and accepted the inevitable. Besides, Joe's connections might be useful once they arrived.

He plopped down on the bed and rubbed at the evening stubble on his face. God, he was tired. And worried. He sat there long minutes, his thoughts in painful turmoil, until he felt his eyes become heavy with sleep. Shaking himself out of his contemplation, he cleared his bed and stripped off his clothes.

A cool breeze blew across his skin and he shivered. He was standing in the middle of a room, the night enveloped in pitch black until a fissure opened in front of him, revealing a bright light. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he waited, no longer surprised when the light softened to a meadow with lush green grass and clear blue skies.

Her voice seemingly came out of nowhere, a soft soprano that filled the room. Somewhere in the back of his mind he reached for a memory, trying to discern if he had heard the song before. The words were foreign, the tune a soothing variation of notes that floated over him in gentle waves.

Then they appeared, a woman and child, seemingly oblivious to his presence as she shelled a bushel of peas, smiling as the tiny kernels fell into the bowl she held securely in her lap. She was sitting on the ground, her head bent over her task as the child ran down a small hill, squealing with laughter as he played.

Duncan smiled at the scene in front of him and shook his head. The boy appeared to be around five years old, all nervous energy and mischief as he rolled and tumbled down the hill.

The woman chuckled, and he glanced back at her as she looked up to meet his eyes. She was beautiful: clear ivory skin, high cheekbones and green-brown hazel eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. He gasped in shock, too stunned to notice that the scene was fading away to the grays and blacks of his room.

He was trembling when he woke, his legs tangled in the sheets as he struggled back into consciousness. Taking slow deep breaths, he willed his body to calm while he sorted out what he had seen in his dream. The cold hand of fear clutched him deep inside, and he closed his eyes, trying to recreate the woman's face in his mind. He knew that face, the hazel eyes looking at him with amusement and fondness, the high cheekbones, and soft brown hair that flowed around her face.

He glanced at the bedside clock and groaned. Six am. His and Joe's flight left in less than four hours and he needed to get up and showered so he could pick Joe up on the way to the airport. With a mental shove, he pushed aside the lingering feelings of trepidation, and turned towards the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, only to stop suddenly in shock when he came face to face with the woman of his dreams.

She was standing in the middle of his kitchen, her head bent over in grief as she began to sob. She looked up at him as he approached, her eyes red rimmed and stricken with pain, then faded away into nothingness.

He reached out to her, the words barely on his tongue, when his kitchen filled with a white haze and the scene changed in front of him.

He was back in the meadow, the sun warming his skin as he waited for her to appear. They materialized in a breath, warm and alive and real. She and the child were playing, running through the grass with bare feet. She stopped and picked the child up and swung him around. They were both laughing when she put him down and hugged him to her breast. Then the child was pulling away and turning toward Duncan, his small face full of wonderment and mischief, before they both faded away, leaving Duncan standing alone in his kitchen once again.

Methos! The name came to his lips and he screamed it out, his whole body trembling with emotion as they disappeared out of his reach.

"Wait!" He shouted out. "Please! I don't know what you're trying to tell me. I need help!"

The words echoed through the empty kitchen, leaving him tense and shaken. He took a deep breath and looked at the clock. In reality, no time had passed since he had left his bed to come into the kitchen. One more cleansing breath, and he walked to the counter and grabbed the coffee pot. He had a plane to catch.

~~~~~~

Duncan shoved the last of their luggage into the trunk of his rental car and slammed it shut. Sliding into the front seat, he turned on the engine, sighing in appreciation when the air conditioner kicked on immediately. Joe looked over at him and grinned.

"A little warmer here than in Seacouver."

"Yeah, don't remind me. Methos was grumbling about the heat the last time I talked to him."

Duncan pulled out onto the street, well aware the other man was studying him intently. He wasn't in the mood for small talk and he hoped Joe would understand. Even though they were fortunate and the travel agent had found a non-stop flight, it had still been a tiresome and tedious four hours. And while Joe had dozed, he had been afraid to close his eyes, afraid of the dreams that continued to haunt him.

"Where are we staying?"

"The Marriot downtown. That's where they put Methos up and he hasn't checked out yet. It's still early and we should have plenty of daylight left. As soon as we get settled in and I have a chance to check out Methos' room, I'd like to go to the University and ask around. That's where he was the last time I talked to him. Maybe someone saw something."

Joe nodded, and adjusted his weight in the seat to look out the passenger side window as they made the rest of the trip in silence.

~~~~~~

Duncan tossed his card key to the bedside table and sat down on the bed tiredly. After checking in they had gone to Methos' room to look for clues. But nothing appeared to have been out of place and there was nothing there to point them in the direction of his lover. Joe was now making some calls before they set out for the University. He suspected the other man was checking Watcher files as well which was fine with him. He had no problem using the Watcher network if it helped him locate Methos.

Numbly, he wondered at his own inertia. Normally he would be full of energy, his blood pumping with adrenaline. Instead, he found himself exhausted, as if some invisible force was pulling him down to the queen size bed in the middle of the room. His extremities felt laden with weight as he moved to lie down. He fought to stay awake, his mind rebelling against the lethargy he felt overtaking his body. His eyes grew heavier....

Loose gravel crunched under his feet as he stepped into the alleyway. It was quiet, the night a dark sheet of silence that wrapped around him as he stopped and looked around. He squinted into the darkness, hoping to see something in the shadows that would tell him where he was.

"Where am I?" His voice echoed through the narrow passage.

As if on cue, he heard a noise and looked up. A street light flickered on, illuminating a sign at the corner: 'Third Street.'

In a flash he was transported outside a large brick building. He looked it over warily, noting the way the bricks were now aged to a worn chalky brown. Obviously the building had been abandoned years ago. The door had been boarded up and bolted to keep out intruders; the building's windows cracked and smeared with grime.

Suddenly, the bricks began to disintegrate in front of his eyes, opening a chasm for him to peer inside. A light seemed to emanate from out of nowhere and filled the room, layering it with soft shadows of gold.

Directly in front of him was a padded table, a man's body draped across it, his wrists and ankles bound with rope, a stake driven into his heart. Duncan stepped into the room, pausing with a shocked exclamation when he recognized his lover.

"Methos," he said the word softly, and reached out, only to be restrained by a force he could not see.

A disembodied hand reached down and removed the stake from Methos' chest before disintegrating into thin air. The atmosphere grew dense, crackling with rising static that prickled Duncan's skin as he waited, unable to speak or move in the heartbeats it took for his lover to come back to life.

His lover's quickening surged around him, and he pulled together his strength to force his limbs to move forward and release Methos from his bonds. He was mere steps away when an invisible force held him in place once again. A heaviness settled in his chest, and suddenly he couldn't breathe as he was suffocated with an oppressive sense of dread.

He heard it first, the sound of a sword slicing through the air, so close that he felt the disrupted air brush across his skin. Then it materialized above the table, hovering for just an instant, golden light dancing across the polished blade. Duncan watched in horror as it suddenly came to life, swinging upward in a graceful arc before descending down towards Methos' vulnerable neck.

He screamed....

Duncan surged up in bed and looked around wildly, trying to gauge his surroundings in the darkened room. It took a moment before he registered the loud banging coming from his hotel door, and he reached over to turn on the bedside lamp.

"Hang on," he shouted, and stumbled over shakily to open the door.

Joe pushed his way in and turned to him accusingly. "Mac, what the hell is going on? I've been calling your room for over an hour. I was beginning to think you took off for the University without me."

"Joe." Duncan licked dry lips and ran his fingers through his hair to gather his thoughts.

"Another dream? You look like hell."

"I feel like hell, Dawson." Duncan looked at Joe, and took a few more slow cleansing breaths, then determinedly shook off the terror from his dream and put himself in motion. "Come on, we've got to get going." He grabbed his coat, reaching inside to verify the placement of his katana before putting it on.

"It's already getting dark outside, Mac. I doubt we'll find anyone at the University now."

"Plans change," he growled.

~~~~~~

He found the alley with incredible ease. Pulling up next to a parking meter, he stopped and jumped out, leaving Joe to put in the necessary change and catch up with him when he could. He knew it would take Joe time to maneuver out of the car and follow behind him, and right now he didn't have time to wait. Something was telling him he didn't have long before his dream became a reality and Methos would be killed. He ran down the alley, searching frantically until he found the building he remembered from his dream. It was large and crumbling from neglect, the stench from garbage and decay assaulting his nose as he drew closer. He stopped and looked around, annoyed when he couldn't find the dilapidated door he had envisioned earlier.

He heard her first, her sobs echoing around him, turning his blood cold with the intensity of her distress. He knew he wasn't asleep now and he peered into the darkness, trying to gauge the direction of her sobs.

"Where are you? You've got to help me!" He shouted into the darkness.

She came out of shadows, her robes swirling around feet that didn't quite touch the pavement. She looked up at him with anguished eyes, meeting his gaze for only a moment before turning and disappearing through the wall of the building.

Pulling his katana from its sheath, he ran after her, coming to a dead stop in front of the boarded up door. With one hard swift kick he had splintered the barricade, causing it to creak and groan against his weight. Once more and the door was falling backwards to land heavily onto the floor, disrupting years of dirt and debris.

He forged ahead, ignoring the dust and dirt that assaulted his nose and mouth, leaving him coughing in its wake as his eyes teared up with irritation. Because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the woman who had reappeared and was turning toward him now, beckoning him to follow her into the depths of the old building.

She vanished at the same time an Immortal buzz wrapped around him, its signature sharp and pulsing as it became stronger. He lifted his sword and shifted into a defensive stance, listening into the silence for the other Immortal to make himself known.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan Macleod."

Duncan waited, his jaw muscle clenching with tension as time spread out from seconds into minutes. A door flew open and he lowered himself into a ready stance as the other Immortal emerged.

The man wasn't large, nor was he impressive with his stance or bearing. In fact, he reminded Duncan of Adam Pierson, his body slouched and uncertain, a slight frame hidden beneath layers of oversized clothing. He came out with his blade drawn, a large broadsword that Duncan clearly remembered from his dream.

Over the unknown Immortal's shoulder Duncan could see the bound body of his lover, just as he had envisioned, laid out on a padded table, his wrists and ankles bound, a stake driven soundly into his heart.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan Macleod," he repeated to the man who had just entered the room.

"So I hear. How did you find me?" The man stepped closer and raised his own sword to prepare for battle.

"That's not important. Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Duncan pointed to Methos' still form with the katana.

"Doesn't matter now, does it? There can be only one!" The man lunged unexpectedly and Duncan found himself having to duck to miss the sharp edge of steel to his neck.

Duncan turned sharply, his katana slicing upwards to parry the Immortal's blow as he struck again. The man was all charge and slice and while Duncan found himself momentarily pushed back into the building's rubble, it didn't take long for him to ascertain that the other Immortal was ill prepared for battle. He had no finesse and once Duncan was able to maneuver out into the open space and push onto the offensive, the other man began to tire.

His movements became sluggish and clumsy as the katana found purchase time and again, slicing and cutting through clothes to the muscles and tendons underneath. He began to sag, his arm seemingly without sufficient strength to bring his blade up to parry a blow to his abdomen.

Duncan cut deep with an almost gloating pleasure, and blood spurted from the Immortal's midsection to seep through his shirt. The man sagged, his sword falling from nerveless fingers as he fell to his knees.

With halting breaths, Duncan approached warily, taking a moment to kick the man's sword away as he advanced.

"There can be only one." The words were loud in the empty shell of the building, broken only by the sounds of their labored breathing. The other man never looked up as Duncan raised his sword and brought it down quickly to sever his head.

The quickening was mild, the man's power a muted storm of electrical charges. When it was over, Duncan found himself on his knees, battered but not destroyed, with none of the expected residual power strumming through his blood or searing his nerves. Whoever the hell this Immortal was, he was not old or particularly evil. But for what he had almost accomplished, Duncan might have let him live.

He pushed himself up and turned towards the room where his lover lay bound on the table. Stepping over the dead Immortal's body, he weaved forward, exhaustion evident in his tense muscles as the events of the past week finally came to an end.

He entered the doorway, only to stop cold at the scene in front of him. The mysterious woman was sitting on the table next to Methos, gently smoothing back the hair from his face as she sang to him softly. Duncan watched her, the tenderness of her touch on Methos' skin, the satiny voice singing the song he remembered from his dreams.

She looked up at him, hazel eyes meeting his gaze squarely. Then she smiled and vanished, the sound of her voice drifting behind her like an echo before it disappeared.

He was cutting away the ropes that bound Methos' wrists when he heard the tap tap of Joe's cane as he approached.

"Is he all right?"

"He will be." He cut the ropes from his ankles and reached for the stake imbedded in Methos' chest.

"I take it that was the bastard who was responsible for this?"

Duncan nodded and pulled out the stake, grunting with effort as it pulled loose with difficulty. Finally his lover was free and he waited for the familiar signature that would indicate Methos was coming back to life.

"Any idea who he was?"

"No. He wasn't interested in a chat and his quickening was rather mild. I got very damn little of who or what he was from it. Except that he wasn't very adept with a sword and I don't think he was very old. I don't know how he managed to engineer this." He motioned to Methos with a wave of his arm, bracing himself as the telltale signature surged into life.

"Well, that I can help you with. While you were taking care of things on this end, I was checking out the rest of the place. I found two bodies in the back of the building. Both of them had been shot between the eyes. Looks like they may have been dead a couple of days. My guess is they were helping him. Might explain how he managed to get Methos here." Joe paused and waited as Methos gasped back to life, coughing and choking as the stale air in the room moved into his lungs.

Duncan pulled Methos into his arms and rubbed his back as the old immortal struggled back to life. "Easy. I'm here."

"Fuck." Methos pushed him away and took in gulps of air. "What happened?" He looked from Duncan to Joe.

"Long story. I think we'd better get out of here though." Duncan looked at Joe expectantly.

"Yeah, I've got people already on the way. You two go ahead. I'll need to oversee the clean up and I want to find out as much as I can about this guy. I'll catch up with you at the hotel later."

Duncan nodded and moved away as Methos shifted his legs around to stand up. He was unsteady, and gripped Duncan's arm tightly when his legs first refused to support his weight. Duncan grimaced as the other man's fingers dug into his skin until Methos took a few steps and began to regain strength. Sliding an arm around his lover's waist, he led them forward, hesitating for only a moment while Methos viewed the decapitated body of the man who had almost taken his life.

~~~~~~

Duncan shifted slightly under Methos' weight and kissed the top of his head where it rested on his chest. Methos had been subdued during their trip back to the hotel, looking out the window absently, his mind seemingly a million miles away. Once they returned to the hotel, they stopped at Methos' room and picked up his belongings before making their way to the eighth floor.

Duncan had led the other man to the bathroom where they had both stripped and stepped into the hot spray of the shower. Even then Methos did not speak, instead letting his hands and mouth convey his relief that he had been rescued, and they were both alive and in one another's arms once again.

Afterwards they had gone to bed and made love slowly, their moans the only sound between them as they let their passion communicate all the feelings they weren't able to put into words at the time.

But now as Methos slept, Duncan had to face the inevitable. They had to talk. He needed to tell Methos about his dreams, about how he had found him. He knew once Methos woke he would want to know what had happened after he was taken.

Yet, if the woman who had appeared to him-- _haunted him_ , his inner voice whispered--was Methos' mother, then what did that tell him about their Immortality? For as long as he knew, Immortals had been told they were bastards, their birth parents a constant unknown in the legends about their race.

Yet, she was as real as the man who slept soundly against him, his body warm and alive and cherished. There was no doubt in Duncan's mind that she had been Methos' mother. Or that the child he had seen in his visions and dreams had been his lover as a boy. What had happened to her, he wondered? How had she died and what had happened to the child she so obviously loved?

Duncan closed his eyes and hugged Methos to himself tightly. The questions were pulling at his mind like a lead weight. He knew he could drive himself mad with the implications if he didn't find some kind of resolution. Yet, what if there were no answers? Methos said he didn't remember his childhood. If that was true, would he hurt his lover by telling him what he had seen and heard?

How would Methos feel knowing he had been loved as a child, while not being able to remember the woman who had given him life and tried to protect him even now? What did it mean for the rest of the Immortal world? About his own parents? Had something happened five thousand years ago that had affected their race ever since? Something so terrible that Methos could not remember it? _Or didn't want to?_

He shuddered against that thought and opened his eyes to look at the man snuggled up against him. Had something so horrible happened that it might tear his lover apart inside to remember? 'God, Methos', he thought to himself. 'What should I do? Tell Joe? No, that would just involve the Watchers in something that was none of their business.' If he did decide to tell Methos, it would have to be something very private between them. If Methos wanted the Watchers to know, he could tell them.

He was actually thankful when a soft tapping at the door took him out of his thoughts. He gently extricated himself from his lover and reached for his robe. A few seconds later, he was motioning Joe into their room with a hushed word of warning.

"He's asleep."

Joe looked over at the sleeping Immortal and nodded, then quietly limped over to the table in the far corner of the room to sit down. Duncan followed behind him, noting how tired his friend appeared as he maneuvered across the room.

"What did you find out?"

"Well." Joe sighed heavily and rubbed at his face. "You were right. He wasn't very old."

Duncan leaned towards Joe in a hushed tone. "Then why was he after Methos? What was his game?" He paused. "Did he know he was Methos?"

"He knew all right. His name was Bob Shaver. Brilliant scientist. Used to work for a Pharmaceutical company as a chemist." Joe looked up and met his gaze. "Before he met Kronos."

"Kronos," Duncan hissed the name back at him.

"Yeah, I had always wondered about the virus. I mean, the man I had read about simply wasn't brilliant enough to come up with a virus that could wipe out the world. He would need help."

"Bob Shaver."

"Got it in one, buddy. He had only been Immortal fifteen years. As luck would have it, Kronos found him. For whatever reason, he bought into Kronos' plans to rule the world. I'm not sure what his motivations were. Maybe he wasn't getting the respect or recognition he thought he should. Or maybe he was always a closet tyrant, but without any resources of his own to do anything about it. Then Kronos walks into his life."

Duncan sat back in his chair thoughtfully. "Go on."

"In any case, two things worked in his favor. One, no one saw him die. And two, Kronos offered him a chance at absolute power and more money than he could make in a hundred lifetimes. All he had to do was use the pharmaceutical company's lab and resources to come up with the virus."

"If Kronos was going to bring him into their plans, why didn't Methos know anything about him?"

"I don't know, Mac. There's a lot of holes in our information. Maybe Kronos didn't tell the other Horsemen. Maybe he had no intention of ever bringing Shaver into their plans. Maybe he planned on taking his head. Whatever his intentions, they all went to hell when you and Methos took the Horsemen out."

Duncan nodded and looked over at his still sleeping lover. "So why now? Why come after Methos and not me?"

Joe shrugged. "Revenge. After Kronos died, and all their plans with them, Shaver's life went to hell. His actions were discovered by someone at the company and he was fired. Once his reputation was destroyed in the scientific community, he lost pretty much everything. And since Methos was the one who turned on Kronos, he decided to get his revenge on him. You do realize what today was?"

Duncan closed his eyes and took a deep breath against the memory. "Yeah, the tenth anniversary of Kronos' death."

"That about sums it up. Look, man, I think I'm ready to head to bed." Joe pulled himself up from the table and leaned on his cane. "Look, MacLeod. I know you don't want to tell me about what's been going on with you this last week. But are you going to tell him? He'll want to know."

"I don't know, Joe. I just don't know."

He walked his friend to the door and let him out, then turned towards the bed and slipped off his robe. He sat down, unsurprised when Methos rolled over and opened his eyes.

"Tell me what, Mac?"

"Nothing that can't wait until morning, Methos. Go back to sleep."

"Still trying to protect me, Mac? I heard what Joe said about Kronos."

Duncan climbed back into bed and pulled Methos to him. "Not your fault, Methos. The man was misguided and Kronos took advantage of him. Is that why you've been so quiet this evening? You haven't seemed quite yourself."

He felt Methos shrug. "No. I...."

Duncan twisted around until he could see Methos' face. "What is it?"

"Was I alone? I mean the entire time he had me there? Was there anyone with me?"

"You mean was anyone guarding you?"

"No." Methos chuckled uneasily. "I mean...was there anyone with me? Watching over me? I know I was dead, all right? I know that!" His voice rose and he jerked away to sit up in bed.

Duncan sat up as well. Methos was clearly agitated about something. He touched his shoulder gently. "Methos?"

Methos turned toward him and lowered his voice. "Duncan, while I was there--while I was _dead_ \--I had the sensation of someone watching over me. Holding me and singing to me. I felt someone whispering my name and stroking my face. Look, I know it doesn't make sense!"

Methos flopped back onto the bed and sighed heavily.

Duncan laid down and pulled him into an embrace. "Methos, while you were gone I was having these dreams...."

 

 

_Finis_  



End file.
